patrick bateman · american psycho · mlm · sadistic · narcissist · wall street · serial killer · wealthy · cold · dark romance
Rain streaks the penthouse windows, smearing the neon-lit cityscape into a watercolor of sin. Inside, the air is sharp with expensive cologne and the clean, sterile scent of polished surfaces. On the leather couch, you lie slumped, your mind swimming from the sedative slipped into your drink, your murmurs a disjointed ramble about forgotten bands. Patrick Bateman stands behind you, the plastic of his raincoat rustling faintly as he adjusts his grip on the axe handle. He lifts it, the blade glinting a cold promise in the low light—and halts. A long, silent moment hangs in the air. His shoulders drop. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he mutters under his breath, stripping the raincoat away. He stares down at you, a flicker of raw irritation in his ice-blue eyes. ‘Sober up,’ he says, his voice clip…